


I Guess That's Why they Call it the Blues

by Audrey_Lynne



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Angst, Bernie is the best bro, Bernie's POV, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LA Party Girls, M/M, Overdosing, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Suicide Attempt, THAT SCENE, this is not the John Reid fan club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey_Lynne/pseuds/Audrey_Lynne
Summary: When are you gonna come down?When are you going to land?The Rocket Man has been flying high, but at some point he has to crash.  His dearest friend is at a loss for how to help.The "Rocket Man" sequence from the film, from Bernie's perspective - including additional bonus footage and appearances from Bernie's LA Party Girls.





	I Guess That's Why they Call it the Blues

**Author's Note:**

> …I was feeling down after a tough day, I went to see Rocketman again to cheer myself up, and one thing led to another… 
> 
> To be clear, this story (and any implications or assumptions made about the characters) is based on the portrayals from the film only, though additional details about the real people they’re based on do creep in there. As with the movie, there is some fudging of timelines to make things flow thematically. But I would like to thank Bernie and Elton for giving us so many songs that have spoken deeply to my heart over the years.

* * *

_“I’d stay here forever.”_ Those words, spoken in a giddy blur of alcohol and excitement at Mama Cass’s house, echoed in Bernie’s mind as he slipped his sunglasses on and turned the keys in the ignition of his rental car. Young and naïve as he’d been, he hadn’t yet come to realize that Los Angeles wasn’t his style. North of the city, tucked-away ranches…that was more his speed. Sheriff Bernie had finally gotten to live out his lifelong dream of being a cowboy and it was amazing. 

Of all things, “Honky Cat” was playing on the radio as he turned the car on, and Bernie snorted. Had change really done them good in the end? In some ways, yes…others, no. Anyone who got to know the two of them well enough could guess where the inspiration for his lyrics came from. If it was about a country boy, that was him. The high-roller celebrity life? Elton. A broken relationship? Well, that was a fifty-fifty shot, given both their disastrous love lives. Of course, that assumed a song _did_ have deeper meaning. Reportedly, some fans were still trying to identify which rooftop Bernie had supposedly scratched out the lyrics to “Your Song” on…when the much more boring reality was that he’d written it at Sheila Farebrother’s kitchen table in between bites of toast. The fans’ constant quests to decipher what each one of Elton’s songs were “about” sometimes frustrated Bernie, but often amused him. One of these days, he told himself, he was going to write an album’s worth of songs about all-you-can-eat buffets and sit back and enjoy the resulting chaos. Elton would probably think it was hilarious. After all, he’d adopted Bernie’s cheeky teasing about his lifestyle in “The Bitch is Back” as a personal theme song.

Elton. Bernie sighed. He wished this party were a smaller, more private event. Or perhaps not. That would have made it harder to get Elton away from Reid for a few moments, check in with him for real without the airs Elton always put on in his manager-slash-lover’s presence. Truth be told, Bernie had never trusted the man. At one point, Bernie thought, Elton and Reid might have truly been in love. Now, though? Elton was in love. That much was clear. But Reid had let the money blind him, becoming the smarmy bastard Bernie had always suspected he could be. Not that Bernie had much room to judge his dear friend’s choice in romantic partners. Coming fresh off a painful divorce, Bernie knew firsthand how the rose-colored glasses of love could blur so many red flags. And considering how often Elton _literally_ wore rose-colored glasses these days… 

Tower Records was a mandatory stop along the way. Bernie walked in, chuckling at the awe with which he’d once regarded the store. Now? His work was featured there. Things like that still gave him a bit of an emotional high, and given how chaotic things had been lately, he needed it. Besides, he wanted to see if Queen’s latest album was out yet. Bernie could hardly say he knew the band well personally, but they’d brushed elbows at a few events and he liked their style. Elton and Freddie Mercury apparently had been known to party together, but that was hardly surprising. They seemed to be cut from the same mold in many respects. 

Bernie hadn’t _intended_ to cut through the aisle that housed Elton’s albums, but he had, and there were two attractive young women chatting excitedly – one of them holding a copy of _Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy._ Despite his better judgement, Bernie slowed down to eavesdrop.

“You’ve got this one, right?”

“Oh, no, is that the latest?”

“Yes, but I think there’s another out soon!”

 _Don’t do it; don’t do it…_ Bernie thought, but even as he tried to talk himself out of it, he sidled up to the women. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear – there is another album out soon, actually. In the next few days, I believe.” Tomorrow, he thought, but with all the travel, sometimes days blurred together. 

The blonde perked up. “Oh, wonderful! I’ll have to get it; I have all his albums. Are you a fan, too?”

Sometimes, chance encounters were kismet, like when Ray Williams had grabbed one envelope out of many to hand to a piano player who couldn’t write lyrics. Sometimes, they were the first step toward disaster. Bernie couldn’t predict which this would be, but he had his opening and he was going to take it. “You could say that. I’m his lyricist.” One of the advantages of being the less recognizable half of their songwriting duo was the opportunity for moments like these. 

The brunette frowned. “You’re messing with us.”

“No, ma’am.” Bernie smiled. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Bernie Taupin.” 

The blonde looked him up and down; she didn’t seem displeased with what she saw. Flipping the album in her hands over, she smiled, pointing to the songwriting credits. “Okay, so how do we know it’s really you?” She seemed to be bordering flirty and playful, not that the two states were ever far apart.

“Well, I could show you my ID,” Bernie said dryly, “but I’m also on my way to a party at his mansion. I could always use a plus-two.” 

The girls exchanged looks, laughing in delight. “Are you serious?” the brunette asked. 

“Totally.” Bernie shrugged. Elton certainly wouldn’t mind a couple more guests. Given how most of his parties went, Bernie could probably show up with an entire harem and no one would notice. Was he being excessive, abusing the privileges of celebrity life? Probably. But if the girls had a fun time, then where was the harm? They were already dressed for a night out. 

“Well, we were going to see if we could get into the Starwood,” the blonde told him playfully, “but my mother always told me never to turn down a sure bet.”

Bernie nodded, playing right into it. “Smart woman.” He extended his arms, inviting them to join him. “Shall we go?”

* * *

Along the way, Bernie learned that the girls’ names were Amanda and Veronica, though while driving, he failed to note which one was which. He thought Veronica might have been the blonde, but he wasn’t entirely sure, and at this point, he was too afraid to ask them to clarify. 

For as much as he teased Elton about the excesses of celebrity, Bernie was certainly enjoying them as he strolled into the party with Amanda on one arm and Veronica on the other. He nodded, greeting a man who called out to him, though he had no idea who it was. The girls were laughing and squealing a bit each time they recognized someone. 

“Ooh, is Elton out by the pool?” maybe-Amanda asked.

Bernie shrugged. “Usually, wherever the party’s hottest is where you’ll find him.” Though Elton had seemed more worn out lately. Their madcap schedule was grueling for everyone, especially him. The little giveaways – like those moments where he’d snap at Bernie and immediately apologize – had been increasing in frequency. As much as Bernie found the whirlwind exhausting, he knew it was even more so for Elton. 

The party was indeed hottest by the pool, where Reid was shamelessly schmoozing the guests, including Elton’s family. Bernie was happy to greet Ivy – he’d always liked her – while Sheila dramatically introduced herself to Veronica and Amanda as Elton’s long-suffering mother. Fred stopped by to say hello in his usual awkward but friendly fashion, but Elton was nowhere in sight. Strangely, Bernie and his lady friends seemed to be the only ones who really noticed. Then again, Bernie couldn’t recall seeing Mama Cass herself at that long-ago party. Except it hadn’t really been that long ago, once he thought about it…it just felt like it.

Fortunately, Bernie knew where Elton could likely be found if he wasn’t in the thick of things, hobnobbing with his entourage. And their relationship was the comfortable enough sort that he had no problem charging into Elton’s bedroom to draw him out. 

The girls giggled as Bernie led them upstairs, marveling at the outrageous décor. “Are you sure it’s okay to go into his _room_?” Veronica (or was it Amanda?) asked.

Bernie shrugged, grinning at her. “We used to sleep in bunk beds at his mother’s house. It’s fine.” He opened the door, finding Elton sulking with a glass of something alcoholic. “Here he is!” He flashed Elton a smile. “There you are, you miserable bastard! You’re missing all the fun.” He flopped onto Elton’s bed, hoping to draw him out of whatever had gotten him into such a mood. Bernie’s ex-wife hadn’t called Elton “the bitch” when he got like this for nothing.

Elton’s expression could only be described as surly. “Well, as long as the fun isn’t missing me…” Whatever else he said, Bernie didn’t really notice, as he glanced back at Amanda and Veronica, rolling over to get up. Maybe playfulness wasn’t the answer this time. Sometimes, Elton did need a little tough love. Besides, Bernie felt a weirdly protective urge to keep the girls from seeing much more of him when he was like this. “We should go get a drink.”

“No, it’s all right,” Amanda-or-Veronica protested, clearly willing to stay and see where this went.

Bernie was determined, however, and he shepherded the ladies toward the hall, pausing to give Elton a disappointed look before closing the door. Part of him felt something was off; even exhausted, this wasn’t like Elton. But it was also far from the first time there had been dramatics – and even if Elton had been speaking out of frustration, if he wanted Bernie to handle the lyrics and let him do the rest, then so be it. 

“Is he all right?” Veronica asked, frowning.

“Oh, he’s fine.” Bernie hoped he wasn’t lying. “You know how celebrities can be. Give him a bit; he’ll wander down and be the life of the party.”

* * *

The best spot to settle, Bernie had decided, was wherever Reid wasn’t, so he’d found a table near one of the bars, overlooking the garden. The pool was within view, if Elton decided to grace them with his presence, but Bernie was having quite a good time with his lady friends, regaling them with tales from before he and Elton were famous. 

“So, then one of our flatmates bursts in, because Arabella’s hopping mad – again – and he…” Bernie trailed off, however, as a commotion from across the way seemed to draw everyone’s attention. Sure enough, Elton had come down from his room, standing on the diving board in his pants and dressing gown.

“For my next trick…” Elton, clearly high, shouted to the assembled crowd, and Bernie was too far away to hear what he said next, but he could only watch in horror as Elton tumbled off the diving board into the water. There was no telling what had preceded that moment, in Elton’s room, but there was no way he’d be able to swim properly in that state. If he’d even wanted to…no, no, Bernie couldn’t let himself think that. He didn’t care who he ran into as he made his way poolside, in time to see Elton being dragged from the pool. He was still conscious – barely – but the _despair_ , even in this state, radiated off him. 

Among the terror and worry of the moment, guilt stabbed at Bernie’s heart. Could he have prevented this? Would staying awhile longer have kept Elton from doing this? Snatches of panicked shouts among the crowd reached his ears – surely he hadn’t taken sixty Valium? No, no, this couldn’t be happening. However, the very real reality was sinking in, as Bernie shoved past Reid to run alongside the stretcher. This wasn’t a foolish, intoxicated accident. Elton had been trying to kill himself. 

“Reg…” he managed to stammer, as they loaded his friend into the ambulance. Bernie, always the quiet one, found himself lost among Reid’s shouted directions, Sheila’s hysterics, and the crowd’s general noise. He was only peripherally aware of Veronica and Amanda catching up with him as he stared at the pool, the reality of the moment sinking in. Elton had almost _died_ – and, who knew, he still might. Bernie was shaking, and he wasn’t aware of how hard until he felt a steadying hand on his arm. 

“Bernie. Bernie, give me your keys. You can’t drive like this.” It was one of the girls, though he was too dazed to really notice which one. “From here, they’re probably going to Cedars-Sinai. I’ll drive you.”

“Thanks.” Apparently, his instincts weren’t all bad; Bernie’s lady friends were proving to be solid in a crisis. He followed them back to the car, still processing everything. One thing was becoming increasingly clear, however, as they left the mansion – something was going to have to give.

* * *

Veronica was the brunette, actually; Bernie had become sure of it while on the way to the hospital. She’d driven while Amanda sat bedside Bernie, trying to comfort him. He didn’t really need comfort, though; he was still in a state of shock. It wasn’t the first time Elton had tried to kill himself, actually – before they’d rocketed to fame, there had been an incident in which Elton put his head in the oven and turned on the gas. However, Bernie had only been able to laugh that time at the absurdity. As dark as that sounded, all the windows were open; it would never have worked. The cry for help was recognized, and they’d become closer for it. But there was nothing funny about it this time. Bernie had known Elton was struggling, but he’d never guessed it would go this far. Guilt gnawed at him as he settled into a chair in the waiting room.

Even in times like this, he was a natural observer, and Bernie slowly took in the scene around him. Reid was on a pay phone, barking orders at someone. His face had never looked more punchable, Bernie thought. Sheila, unsurprisingly, was making this about her. Ivy sat down beside him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. Bernie forced himself to smile for her sake, and she returned it shakily. 

“I suppose we’ve all got to go home now,” Ivy murmured.

That did get Bernie to laugh, a little. “So it would seem.” He looked around, wanting to thank Amanda and Veronica properly, but they were already gone.

“Perhaps one day you’ll write a song about this,” Ivy said, clearly trying to keep things light.

Bernie snorted. “Already did, actually.” Well, not this time, but one song about a suicide attempt seemed to be enough. “Best hit off the album.” He could match her efforts; it helped him cope, too. Reid was already talking to his contact about potential cover stories if this hit the media, confirming the concert…seriously? It was in two days; did he expect Elton to be in any shape to perform after an overdose and being fished from the bottom of the pool? Apparently. And it was exactly these sorts of demands, the lack of regard for Elton’s well-being, that had led to this situation in the first place. Not to mention the number of times he’d seen Reid openly flirting with others in Elton’s presence. It was infuriating, but Bernie wasn’t one to cause a scene. There were enough people doing that already. As much as he wanted to tell Reid off, he settled for glaring at the man from across the room.

Reid clearly noticed, and he put on that fake cheerful smile of his as he got off the phone, approaching Bernie. “He’s going to be just fine. That’s our Elton, always putting on a show.” 

Bernie knew if he didn’t leave the room - didn’t get away from this man - he was going to do something he’d regret. He stood, brushing past Reid, pausing only long enough to growl, “ _You_ did this to him,” in a tone only Reid could hear.

* * *

The next two days were far too much of a blur for Bernie to get a chance to catch up with Elton. He’d seen Elton long enough to hug him and let him know how glad he was that Elton would be all right, but then there they were at Dodgers Stadium. To be fair, it had been an incredible performance, as usual. Bernie doubted anyone in the crowd for either show would have guessed anything was amiss in Elton’s life as he batted balls from atop his piano. _Put on a great fucking show,_ as Dick James said once. Except the “don’t kill yourself with drugs” part seemed to be failing.

And, then, just as quickly, it was a private jet to the next leg of the tour. Finally, with time on their hands, and a quiet moment mostly to themselves. “Reg, listen to me.” Bernie never thought about when he was going to call Elton that; it just slipped out naturally when the moment called for it. As much as Elton wanted to distance himself from shy, sweet Reggie…that was still him, down deep. He hadn’t _been_ Reggie Dwight for years now, true, but even Elton Hercules John could never separate himself from his core entirely. “This whole thing, it’s gotten out of control. The costumes – you know damn well I think it’s a bit much, but if it makes you happy, fine. But Reid has got to slow down. You need to put your foot down with him. He works for you, and I think he forgets it. He’s overproducing the shit out of you, and I think this week is a prime example of – Elton?” His pleas were apparently falling on deaf ears, as Elton was staring into space. “Elton!”

Elton jumped. “Sorry…you were saying?”

Maybe pointing out the effect this was having on Elton wasn’t the way to go. Bernie was aching to get through to him, but Elton was nothing if not stubborn and perhaps it was easier to take a more personal, no-blame approach. “I think…I need a break.”

“Oh, _you_ need a break?” Elton scoffed. 

Clearly, they weren’t going to get anywhere. He was in one of his moods, and while Bernie was certainly sympathetic to that, given all that had happened, he was desperate to get through. He found himself pleading for Elton to join him on his ranch, where they could hide away from the world and hopefully heal. Make music the simpler way…take it back to those days in Pinner, or even the French chateau. Bernie longed to spend hours or days perfecting a tale, only to hand it off to Elton and hear the notes float upstairs from the piano and have a finished product in less than an hour. Perhaps the magic and awe of those early days couldn’t be recaptured, but Bernie wanted to _try_. 

Elton, however, dug in his heels, going on about how he wanted to work with other writers and expand his horizons. They never argued, because Bernie refused to consider these arguments. Those needed two, and Bernie wasn’t going to rise to the bait. If he argued with anyone, he was going to save that for Reid. True to the drama, Elton rose as if intending to breeze away, though it was hard to pull that off in an airplane. Bernie withdrew to a seat near Nigel, earning a sympathetic smile from the drummer. He pulled out his notebook, trying to write to distract himself, ease his mind…but he tore the pages out as soon as he’d written a few lines, wadding them into the trash. Whether it was with Elton John or not, no one wanted to listen to a song about bullheaded best friends, slimy managers, and the very real despair that he might wake up to a late-night phone call he couldn’t even bear to imagine. Individually, those might have been acceptable topics, but together it was too much, and Bernie set down his pen for the moment. Maybe it _was_ time to start writing about all-you-can-eat buffets…


End file.
